


Pornathon '14

by Beanwhile



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bonding, Canon Era, F/F, Fingerfucking, Gen, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magic, Magic Mirrors, Masks, Omega Verse, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Table Sex, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 09:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2264157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beanwhile/pseuds/Beanwhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All my entries for this year's pornathon + 4 extras (2 written, 2 images)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sexpistolary [Aredian/Cenred]

**Author's Note:**

> I tried everything and the images refused to be centered. Apologies for that.

                “Anyway, my grandfather thinks you’re attractive,” Mordred yells to outcry the loud music. He takes a swig from his beer and winks at a dumbfound Cenred.

                “I have so many questions I won’t pose a single one,” Cenred manages finally. Does he know Mordred’s grandfather? Is said grandfather at the party? Why is Mordred privy to such information and, above all, what brings Mordred’s grandfather to a horny adolescents’ party? Cenred looks around, half-expectant to see a jolly old man in a Hawaiian shirt.

                “You boys know how to party, hm?”

                Cenred hasn’t noticed when Mordred has gone away. He turns to see the owner of the unfamiliar voice talking to him. Leaning against the wall stands a middle-aged man dressed in tight jeans and unbuttoned dark shirt with sleeves rolled up; little is left to the imagination. Cenred swallows. The man is almost equal to him in height, Cenred has perhaps only a centimeter or two on him. This is totally not happening to him. “Let me guess, you must be Mordred’s grandfather,” he says instead.

                The man gives him a wicked smile and extends his hand. “Aredian.” He introduces himself. Cenred takes the offered hand. Aredian has a strong grip. In the mixed light Cenred cannot tell if Aredian’s hair and close-trimmed beard are completely white or they still retain some of their natural colour. He’s been originally blond or ginger. Aredian is very handsome – the tell-tale signs of his age only add an air of maturity to his strong presence to which Cenred cannot help but feel attracted to.

                “Cenred.”

                Less than five minutes later they’re desecrating Mordred and Percy’s bed. Aredian is leaning back against the pillows; his hand has unbuttoned Cenred’s jeans and palms and teases Cenred’s cock through the fabric of his boxer shorts. Cenred is on his knees and forearms, thrusting his hips against Aredian’s indulging hand; he’s tongue-deep into Aredian’s mouth, and the way Aredian sucks his tongue and kisses back does little to silence Cenred’s whimpering.

                A deft finger circles around the slit of his cock, rubbing it every now and then. It sends his hips jolting and he is unable to suppress the high-pitched whines of pleasure that bubble in the back of his throat. He’s a mess – he knows as much – and he’s so horny he feels faint; all he wants to do is thrust into Aredian’s hand until he comes.

                Aredian squeezes Cenred’s cock and the latter breaks their kiss with a gasp. He takes a deep breath – if Aredian goes on like this… He grinds the whole of his length against Aredian’s palm. The initial pleasure quickly builds up and shoots through his cock; he’s really close. Aredian takes the hint. “You want to come, boy?” he teases. He plants his other hand on Cenred’s chest and pushes him up until Cenred’s back is arched and he’s on his wide-spread knees. He takes the end of his tee between his teeth, and is pleased to see Aredian biting his bottom lip.

                Aredian hooks his index finger in the waistband of Cenred’s underwear and pulls it; Cenred’s cock jolts up and Aredian lets go of the fabric to pin it in place. He gives his hand a wet lick and palms Cenred, eliciting small, needy noises from him. He rubs the heel of his hand over the length of Cenred’s cock, making sure that the wet of his palm will slide over the head. Cenred tosses his head back and moans. “That’s it,” Aredian purrs. He shoves Cenred’s cock back into his underwear and starts rubbing his palm against its length. “Come on, cream your pants for me, boy. That’s a good boy, there…”

                Cenred grabs Aredian’s hand to steady it and grinds against it. The feeling is incredible; in a few seconds he’s coming hard, pleasure shooting through him. He’s a good boy, he’s creamed his pants – he can feel the warmth of his come soaking his underwear, and it only makes him grind harder. Aredian murmurs something soft and sweet.

                Cenred groans and slumps forward. He’s too sated to care that Mordred’s _very attractive_ grandfather has given him a handjob. First comes returning the favour.


	2. Secrets and Lies [Leon/Mordred/Percival]

Mordred has no idea how much trouble that splash of water will cost him. He's still smiling when Percy shoves him backwards. Even with the resistance of the water – the lake was too clear and the water warm enough to be an irresistible temptation – Mordred loses his balance and falls back. He expects to smoothly ease down; instead he lands on something solid. Before he knows it two strong arms lock Mordred's arms on the sides of his chest, and immobilise his upper body. "Little troublemaker," someone chuckles, and Mordred recognises Leon's voice. He tries to twist away but he's helpless in the water. Percy approaches them grinning.

"Nice catch there," he hums. The water level barely licks his pecks. Damn, they're both so _huge_ with Leon. "Think we can eat him for dinner?"

"Mmm," Leon purrs in Mordred's ear. "He's rather small to feed the both of us, don't you think?" He bites Mordred's earlobe and his tongue flicks over the skin. Mordred shudders. Pleasure runs through his body and his cock throbs. He moves his foot back and shifts his weight, gluing his lower body to Leon's. He can feel his fellow knight's growing hardness against his s ass.

Percy blatantly invades Mordred's personal space. His hands brush Mordred's sides but don't linger. There's a tug, a pull, and then they're sandwiched together. Percy's cock presses into Mordred's lower abdomen.

Leon's grip on Mordred slackens and his hands trail down and rest on Mordred's hips. Mordred’s pelvis is leisurely rocked back and forth as much as the space between Leon and Percy allows. Percival smirks and traces Mordred's lower lip with a wet finger.

 "Your big secret is safe with us, little knight," Leon coos. His now fully hard cock presses snugly in the crevice of Mordred's ass. Leon's... proportional, to say the least.

"What secret?" Mordred feigns innocence. He knows – _they_ know – it is as fake as his apparent calm under such openly sexual attack. Not that he minds. He wonders how much they know; are they aware of the dark nights during which he gets himself off on the thought of Percy and Leon sandwiching him in much the same way, bites his lower lip pretending that it's Leon's teeth which cause the sweet pain, pretends that his three slicked fingers are actually Percy's cock which stretches him so good-

A hand strokes the length of his cock and he moans.

"Water's boiling around you, hot little knightling," Percy groans. The way his voice fucking _vibrates_ , Mordred wonders if it sounds the same way when-

He tosses his head back onto Leon's shoulder when the latter's hand caresses his balls and starts stroking him. "We'd be really offended if you seriously thought we hadn't noticed the way you look at us... The way you swallow hard when we change our clothes or completely undress... And can we forget that one time when Percy tackled me to the ground and pretended I was his bride to be?" Leon chuckles at the last bit. Percy smiles too. They have pressed him tight between their big muscular bodies, both of them so tall and strong, both so deliciously... big. The tip of Mordred's cock rubs against Percy's thigh every now and then, when Leon changes the angle. It's impossibly hard not to let out a single sound when Percy is teasing him with his tongue, brushing his lips against Mordred's but not really kissing him. Mordred tries to be the one to initiate it, tries to kiss, but Percy is quick and cruel and he only smiles when Mordred fails.

He's so close, panting hard, he can feel the pleasure pooling, edging, almost tipping over-

"Hey!" Gwaine hollers. "Don't scrounge the kid all for yourselves, you big perverts!"

Leon and Percy let go of Mordred and drift away. "No, of course not." Percy smiles, never taking his eyes off Mordred. "We'd wait until it's dark."


	3. Trades & Professions [Gwaine/Cenred]

                When Gwaine, a freelance bodyguard (as he referred to himself), accepted the job offer from some Cenred Nolastname he did not expect it to be anything out of the ordinary shady business. He was surprised to hear how open Cenred was about being part of the local mob. Gwaine did not care how legal his employer was as long as they paid well.

                He had also expected to do more, well, body- _guarding_ , instead of body- _fucking_. He was, in fact, predominantly bodyfucking. Not that he was complaining, mind you.

                Cenred kicked away his underwear and sat on the edge of the desk. Grinning, he lifted his foot and caressed Gwaine’s knee with his toe. The latter abandoned unbuttoning his shirt and knelt immediately. Cenred had fucking amazing legs and Gwaine worshipped them even without being prompted to. He stuck out his tongue and gave the inside of the ankle an experimental lick. The shudder that ran up his boss’ leg was more than satisfactory. Cenred exhaled and pressed his ankle against Gwaine’s mouth. “Go on,” he urged. Gwaine obliged him immediately - he ran his tongue up to Cenred’s knee, then went up until he reached the hipbone. Cenred readily rolled up his shirt, revealing the side of his delicious torso and really, how was Gwaine supposed to resist _that_?

                He ripped the shirt off Cenred’s body and pinned his boss on the desk. Cenred laughed - he always sounded so amused - and rolled his hips, rubbing his cock against Gwaine. The latter growled. Even sprawled, naked, and willing, legs wide spread for Gwaine, Cenred still had this… _power_ , or whatever it was, over him. He could only groan and grind back, possessed with the need to bury himself in Cenred. He bent down and took one nipple between his lips, sucked it, nipped at the flesh, licked it apologetically when his boss shuddered from the pain.

                Gwaine hurried to take off his trousers. A hot wave of anticipation washed over him when his cock was free from the restrains of his underwear. He opened and put a condom on while Cenred was lubing himself; then his boss leaned back on his elbows and spread his legs in invitation. Gwaine teased Cenred with the tip of his cock, then pushed in, and slowly continued pushing, oblivious to everything but the hot tight place taking him in. Cenred nudged him with his knee. Gwaine bit back on the bossy-boss pun and grabbed his employer’s thighs to steady himself. When his cock finally went all the way in Cenred threw his head back and moaned. His hair spilled over and behind his shoulders and Gwaine regretted not being able to grab and pull it the way both of them liked.

                Frustrated, he set a quicker pace than their usual. He was acting as if possessed, thirsting to hear the moans and whimpers spilling from his boss’ mouth, thirsting to just plain fuck, rut like an animal. Cenred writhed, encouraged him with breathy yeses and fucks, until he suddenly fell onto the desk and arched his back. “There… yeah, _there_ , just-, oh fuck, _fuck_ , Gwaine, aahhh-”

                Cenred’s whole body tensed, and he let out a whine. His cock spurted long, white stripes all over his spasming stomach. Gwaine slammed harder into him, his own orgasm close. His hips snapped, then again, again and again until the pleasure coiling inside tightened, then spilled, and he was coming as well. Cenred whined and squirmed beneath him, probably growing oversensitive, but Gwaine couldn’t bring himself to slow down, not now, not when Cenred had been the one to initiate it like that.

                It took them both a good while to catch their breath. Cenred was the first to recover.

                “You interested in a raise and perhaps a permanent position?”


	4. Tropesmash [Merlin/Arthur]

                “The omegas have elected a Warrior, my Lord.”

                Merlin nods, silent. Names are irrelevant. The messenger bows and exits the room.

                Merlin watches the sunset. The room is silent; only the slowly shifting lightplay marks the change of time, light saturating, turning darker; pale, orange, blood, then disappears. Night starts to settle. To be the chosen ones, Warlock and Warrior, for the Ritual of Life, it’s a great honour, he’s been told, it’s the miracle of life, the joy of giving. Ancient magic flows through the veins of their world - isn’t it a given that they should infuse it with the young they have to offer? There’s no bloodshed in it, no harm, no pain. Only magic, only… life.

                Sleep doesn’t come to him that night.

                ***

                It takes a few inhales for the incense to grip his chest like a tight cloth and spread warmth to and through his lower body. His cock throbs; Merlin can suddenly feel the texture of his smalls. He inhales deeper.

                ***

                He is dimly aware of his shroud slipping from him; the soft material caresses his skin and tickles his neck; a whiff of cold air wraps around him like a second skin. The gates close. He’s in a round room covered in mirrors, surrounded by himself, each Merlin naked, each with an ornate mask. When he moves his head all the Merlins turn their heads to look at the gigantic bed on which the Warrior writhes. His strong legs open and close, thighs rub together, his body torn between weak attempts to satisfy itself with its own touch, and invitations for another’s attentions.

                Merlin (doesn’t know how he’s reached the bed) spreads the Warrior’s knees and the view of his body takes his breath away.

                The Warrior is fit and strong, truly, but he’s not all sinews, muscle, and bones. There’s meat on him, the outlines of his shifting muscles are smooth and even curvy, and all begs to be touched. His hands are taut and tied above his head with a thick rope. Merlin basks in the view of him, from head to leaking cock. A blond fringe. Half-lidded blue eyes. The mask hides everything else.

                Merlin plants his hands on the sides of the Warrior’s torso and starts pushing in. Blue eyes flutter shut upon the breach and the Warrior tosses his head back; a muffled moan escapes him. Merlin’s teeth itch to sink into his Adam apple; his tongue feels thick and he needs to stick it out and lick and suck and taste the body beneath him, but he has a mask as well.

                He pushes forward and arches his back to thrust deeper, thrust with his hips, harder, to make the obscene noises louder. The Warrior’s legs are on Merlin’s sides, caress him, guide him, pull him closer. His knees bump into Merlin’s elbows and Merlin straightens his arms to raise himself, and thrusts harder.

                The Warrior moans and shifts his hips beneath Merlin. They’re forbidden from talking; moans and gestures are their only communication. So they writhe and shift and move together, work together, until the Warrior moans again, and then again, loud and pleading.

                Magic, young, virile and fertile, flows through them, connects them, disperses to all the mirrors in which at least a hundred pairs of Warlock and Warrior are copying each and every move and sound in perfect sync. Merlin forgets about everything; all he can feel is their primal connection, how it tunnels something more powerful, something beyond them, and he needs to follow, he thrusts harder, harder harder harder until he reaches a peak and it arches his back and there’s only light, and the ecstasy of magic.

                ***

                He fights and yells but they’re stronger, and they drag him away. Another two are holding Arthur on the bed. Now that Merlin’s mind is clear from the aphrodisiacs he knows what’s wrong - they’ve bonded, and he’ll live the rest of his life with a whispered name - Arthur - to comfort him. He’ll always wake up when his fingers are about to remove the Warrior’s mask.

 


	5. Snatch [Nimueh/Ygraine]

                Ygraine de Bois is many things. She is the embodiment of a true lady, with subtle wit and a very peculiar way in which she uses her soft voice so that even lords and battle-baptised knights fall silent and listen to what she has to say. She is the best friend and one true love of Nimueh, and Nimueh must admit she is happy the feelings are mutual.

Ygraine is graceful like a nymph, so when she barges into Nimueh's room (yet bearing all her grace) the latter is, to say the least, surprised.

                Ygraine locks the door and presses an ear against the thick hard wood; for a good while there's only the silence, every now and then interrupted by her inhaling deeply. Nimueh is about to say something but Ygraine, without moving from the door, raises her finger and so Nimueh stills, patiently, awaiting for whatever it is that's been troubling Ygraine to pass. Her fragrance - tender decorative flowers the names of which Nimueh will never remember because they're neither herbs nor magic - reaches Nimueh's nose and she's can't help herself, and inhales. Her skin tingles; in her stirs the desire to take in more, inhale directly from Ygraine's skin, taste it, kiss it, worship it-

                She takes a deep, perhaps a bit sharp, breath, and tries to think of other things. Inappropriate thoughts reach her a tad bit too easily as of late, she reckons.

                Ygraine lifts her ear from the door and rushes across the room to where Nimueh stands, still silent and smiling. The latter's about to greet when Ygraine takes a hold of her head and pulls her into a kiss.

                Shock runs through Nimueh's whole body, so hard she shudders and has to grab Ygraine's slender forearms lest she tumbles and falls. Ygraine's lips are hot; her tongue is insistent, her body as if feverish. As Nimueh returns the kiss she racks her mind as to what may be the cause of all this - Ygraine has had not one occasion to prove herself playful, yet there's never been this... need, this _urgency_ , as if the world was ending, as if this was their last meeting.

                Nimueh abandons reasoning and coherent thought when Ygraine pushes her onto the bed and straddles her, fingers already on the task of taking off whoseever dress comes first.

                For hours, they don't leave the bed, and Nimueh, who has always cared little for her own pleasure in this, now feels like glass shattered into dust, like her body and soul have exploded into an eternity not quite unlike the night sky, vast and cosmic. As their bodies intertwine and their lips meet in more and more insatiable kisses she feels like crying. She buries her fingers deep into Ygraine, covers her breasts and neck in tender kisses, watches as Ygraine writhes and moans in pleasure, and arches her back when she reaches her peak, and feels like crying, and doesn't know why. _Perhaps this is love_ , she thinks while Ygraine makes herself comfortable in her embrace, _happiness so big it brings you to tears_. She kisses Ygraine's slightly damp hair, and again, feels overwhelmed.

                "May I ask what caused this, My Lady?" Nimueh murmurs while she strokes the tender skin of Ygraine's shoulder.

                Ygraine's sharp inhale is audible; she buries her face into Nimueh's chest and her grip on Nimueh tightens. It's a peculiar thing, to see Ygraine de Bois shy - all her deeds she does with confidence. Nimueh can't help herself and strokes her hair. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have asked-"

                "I'm to be married to Uther Pendragon," Ygraine whispers.

                All the warmth disappears from Nimueh's body; it feels as if her very blood has turned to ice. A tear burns her eye and runs down her cheek.


	6. Cycles [Lancelot/Arthur]

                Arthur throws his head back and moans, shuddering and thrashing, as his orgasm hits him and makes him light-headed. He doesn't care that he's too loud, doesn't care that, perhaps, the neighbours are trying to sleep or have a big day tomorrow. He only needs to prolong his pleasure, with movement and sound, to vocalize it, to show Lance exactly how much he loves him, how endless is the pleasure the latter gives him. Lancelot continues thrusting in him, his hips snap and snap and snap; Arthur can feel the cock inside him throbbing and then he feels it, feels how it gets even harder and then Lance's thrusts become quick and shallow, jabs even, if Arthur needs be picky about his vocabulary, and his quiet moans mean the world to Arthur. They are one now, in sex, in this, in whatever it is that their life will become soon enough. They belong together.

                Lance gradually slows down, and then (ever so graceful, the bastard) flops onto Arthur. The moment he realizes he's atop of him he tries to shift but Arthur wraps his hands around Lancelot's waist and keeps him in place. Lance emits a low sound to show he's understood, and moves until both of them feel comfortable. Outside, the night is bright and the wind hums with the distant sounds of a busy street. The gaining moon peeks through the open window. Arthur can see its shape cast on the curtain and its light dissipating in the room. Lancelot, Arthur notices, has turned his head from it; even in happy moments like this, even during sex it probably takes its toll on his mind. Arthur finds himself holding his lover tighter again, and inhales the scent of sweat and sex, mixed with the freshness settling after summer storms, coming from outside.

                "Lance..." he whispers, and immediately feels Lancelot's whole body stiffen.

                "I'm really sorry, Arthur, can we talk about it... _later_? Just later?"

                His voice is breathy and weary and Arthur nods in agreement. He needs to talk about it, and he knows Lancelot is aware of this because of-fucking-course Arthur Pendragon must have a plan about everything that happens in life, his boyfriend being bitten by a werewolf included. Arthur had been surprised to find out that the worse part is seeing Lance suffer in silence, and not being able to help at all. They can't go to a doctor, and they probably look suspicious already, taking all the possible books on werewolves from the library, and purchasing a great deal more online. The person - Arthur has to force himself to think of that one as a person - who bit Lance is still out there and until the moon is full they are going to be in the dark about practically all of the details.

                They had tried to stay away from each other, Lance especially had tried to stay away from Arthur for fear of hurting him one way or another, but Arthur had made it impossible. Lancelot the Werewolf was as every bit as passionate and gentle a lover as Lancelot the Human. They have to use condoms again, truth, and it is a bit inconvenient to re-stack on those, but it is for the best. They laugh at the image of tiny sperm with tiny werewolf fangs and claws and hellbent on impregnating Arthur through his butt or however it worked in real life.

                Lancelot slides behind Arthur and spoons him with a possessiveness that is very new for him. Arthur does not mind. Moon cycles he can adjust to, and he looks forward to a time when he will be able to tease Lance about his time of the month.


	7. The Five Senses [Aredian/Cenred]

            “Would you like to play a game?”

            Cenred shows a weak smile despite the wave of intimidation. No, he doesn’t; not with Aredian. The Witchfinder’s playful, predatory smile is the scariest sight on Earth. He swallows. “Why not?” And bites into the apple he’s holding. He hopes Aredian hasn’t noticed the tremble in his hand. The sweet juices of the ripe fruit fill his mouth and he swallows. His throat is tight.

            Aredian pushes Cenred’s half-full plate away and sits sideways on the table. He takes the apple from Cenred’s hand and, still smiling, puts it away. Cenred tries to pull away but the Witchfinder’s grip tightens around his wrist to the point of actual pain. He yelps; tries to mask it with a laugh but it’s too late too obvious and both of them know it. Aredian brings starts to unwrap the cloth around Cenred’s hand. Uncanny feeling takes hold of the latter, as if he’s been dipped into ice-cold water. His guts twist and turn and he feels… embarrassed, as if he’s naked in front of a judgmental crowd.

            “You serve fine food, Cenred, but would you recognize what you’re putting in your mouth if you don’t see and touch it, hm?” Aredian murmurs, and blindfolds Cenred with his own cloth.

            Cenred hears the heavy step of the guards, and has to lift his now-bare hand to stop them. He won’t present himself a coward in front of the Witchfinder. His men stop and fall back. Aredian ties his hands behind his back. The tight knot of dread and fear tightens in Cenred’s chest, and presses heavy upon his stomach.

            “Try to guess the food I’ll offer you.” In the darkness, the Witchfinder’s voice is on another level in instilling fear and terror. His laughter sends ants crawling all over Cenred’s back.

            When prompted, Cenred boldly extends his tongue to take the first sliver. Cold and sharp taste prods his tongue and he jumps from the pain. When his tongue is back in his mouth coppery warmth spreads and mixes with his saliva: he’s bleeding. “I didn’t know I was to try the cutlery,” he hisses a reproach.

            “Blame your own impatience,” Aredian chides him in return.

            Gingerly, Cenred opens his mouth and extends his tongue. Something tasteless and wet is pushed against the tip. He licks the smooth surface and it proves small and rather spherical. His tongue runs over a tiny rough patch and he prods the tip into it. “Grape,” he announces.

            Satisfaction fills him when the berry of grape bursts between his teeth and the familiar taste of its fresh juice fills his mouth.

            He successfully guesses the stringy meat of a pheasant, the tricky ball of bread which Aredian had mashed in his fist, the salty cube of cheese, the sweet slice of the apple Aredian has previously taken from his hand. He can hear his own elevated breathing, and the distant shifting of feet. His guards sound worried, leaving a guest hand-feeding the king.

            He is feeling confident and smug until rough, hard flesh presses wetness against his tongue. He startles; immediately recognizes the sweetness of wine, but the other thing? His mouth has watered, and he swallows the drips of wine he’s been offered. His tongue runs over a smooth, bitter-y surface and a soft, salty underneath…

            “You’ve dipped your fingers in wine.” Cenred laughs. “Finally a challenge.”

            Aredian snorts. “Does the human body present more of a challenge to you, hm?”

            Cenred nods and smiles. He hears a rumble of a plate being pushed away on the table, followed by the soft rustling of clothes. There’s a pause, then another rustle. A gasp of horror erupts from the sides of the room; his guards sound appalled, and their whispers are a mess. Cenred only smirks: he knows he has asked for this.

            The Witchfinder’s fingers grab a fistful of his hair. Cenred’s head is navigated down; his tongue meets hot, salty flesh, with a musk he can’t mistake. It’s round and soft, and there’s a slit of an opening on the top, which leaks a taste he’s overly familiar with, yet completely unable to describe in terms of taste. His lips close around a ridge. Aredian may think he’s very clever but it’s a game for two, and Cenred’s no loser.


	8. Bonus 2: Rock & Roll [Elyan/Leon/Gwaine]

                Somewhere in the background the base thuds and a new song starts. After a few seconds Elyan recognizes Deftones’ Digital Bath. He takes a shallow breath and watches as Gwaine fumbles to unzip his jeans.   
  
                Leon comes as a surprise. Gentle and innocent Leon with his warm smile and kind eyes, Leon the pure, Leon is now dragging his tongue over Elyan’s cock with skill and eagerness on par with Gwaine’s. He puckers his lips around the tip and slides them down the shaft, greedily sucking in and leaving little to Gwaine. The latter groans in protest, and moves his attention to Elyan’s balls.  
  
                Feeling all this is one thing - Elyan is in fucking Heaven - but the sight alone turns him on like nothing else. Gwaine and Leon could hardly pass for brothers but there’s something excitingly similar about their shoulder-length hairs and the scruff covering their cheeks. They’re both very handsome men; from above their lashes look longer and thicker, especially Gwaine’s, and Leon’s lips look even oh fuck Gwaine’s licks and fluttery kisses over Elyan’s inner thigh are turning into bites and scrapes of teeth-  
  
                “Leon,” Elyan groans and grabs a fistful of Leon’s hair, “If both of you do that I won’t last long.”  
  
                Leon and Gwaine exchange wicked smiles. Well, Gwaine positively looks wicked. Leon is… naughty at best. Gwaine presses Elyan’s cock against his abdomen (he doesn’t even remember losing his tee) and he and Leon start licking the sides of the shaft, torturously slow lapping with their hot wet tongues, saliva dripping down and tickling him and oh god Elyan bites his lip and groans louder because he can’t for the world miss even a moment from the show they’re making for him.  
  
                Their tongues meet at the slit and they indulge each other in a quick, passionate kiss. They go down, start kissing again, licking each other’s lips, licking the head of Elyan’s cock, trying to close both their pretty mouths around it. Occasionally Elyan feels a scrape of teeth - Gwaine never bothers being careful.  
  
                He thinks it can’t get better than this but he couldn’t be more wrong. Their hands run up his legs, one gets a firm grip around the base of his cock and squeezes, the rest touch and feel him, fingers pinch and rub his nipples, and the tongues become all the more insistent. “Guys…” he murmurs, and they understand. Leon bats away Gwaine’s hand and wraps his fingers around Elyan’s shaft. While he pumps both his and Gwaine’s tongue lick the head, lap at the slit, and it makes Elyan pant and moan. He comes, shooting white stripes over their faces and greedy open mouths; it’s a challenge not to close his eyes, but he manages. The sight of Gwaine and Leon working so hard just to please him and then swallowing every drop is something he wants to remember from start to finish.


	9. Bonus 3: Purple Romance [Cenred - image]




	10. Bonus 4: Whose Line Is It Anyway [Arthur & Merlin]

_Arthur was under attack. It was the only explanation for the noises coming from his room, Merlin thought, as he skidded into the doorway, readying his strongest spells of protection._

_Stunned into stillness, he watched Arthur writhing under a snuffling, squealing pile of_

                nifflers. Merlin’s jaw dropped. The black fluff-balls were literally swarming over Arthur. What Merlin had initially thought to be sweat turned out to be, after a squint, fine gold dust, glittering from every visible inch of Arthur’s body.

                “Why, thank you for your help, _Mer_ lin, you shouldn’t have bothered!” Arthur grunted. His words came out a bit jumbled - one of the nifflers was patting his cheek with all the vigor in the world.

                Merlin put his wand back and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his hands. His face hurt from the grinning. “Why, Arthur,” he began lovingly, “haven’t I always told you you’re a real… _treasure_?”

                “I swear you should be expelled for that pun alo-AGH!” Arthur screeched mid-sentence. One of the nifflers had attempted to bite off his shiny nipple.

                Merlin walked over and sat on Arthur’s bed. He plucked two of the furry beasts from Arthur’s body and decided it was all the help he could offer at the moment. The nifflers quickly went all over him, looking for treasures, then settled in his lap when he ran his hand over their soft backs. “So what happened?”

                “Oh, thank you for asking! You see, I’m not sure,” Arthur hissed. One of the nifflers had just attempted to scout his mouth for treasure. He gently pushed the beast to his chest at least, and turned his head to Merlin. “I was getting back from Quidditch practice when I bumped into that nasty Slytherin, Jarl, who poked me with his wand and- no, _not like that, Merlin_ , gosh! Anyway, I thought nothing of it until some twenty paces later when this evil swarm attacked me.” Arthur plucked a random little beast and put it in Merlin’s lap, but the niffler scuttled back to his body. He sighed in resignation. “I tried to get the damn thing off but no spell I can think of works. Neither does scrubbing and water, I tried,” he added with a glare when Merlin opened his mouth.

                Merlin ran a finger over Arthur’s shoulder but when he raised it to his eyes it hadn’t collected a single speck. “Strange…” He shrugged, but an idea was starting to form in his mind. “We should get professor Aredian to take a look at you.”

                “Are you nuts? He’d rather part with all the golden decorations in his office than…” Arthur trailed off. His eyes twinkled and he suddenly grinned. “Professor Aredian is our _best_ option, indeed. Come on!”

                He got up and rushed to the door. The nifflers didn’t seem to notice that the object of their desire was in motion.


	11. Bonus 7: Fusions & Crossovers [Aredian/Cenred - image]




End file.
